


in the morning, i'll be with you

by thewriterofperfectdisasters



Series: Fic A Day In May [18]
Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: ???? - Freeform, M/M, ficadayinmay, idek what this is, idk where this came from, thoughts between 3x12 and 4x05
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-30
Updated: 2014-05-30
Packaged: 2018-01-27 14:53:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,027
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1714589
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thewriterofperfectdisasters/pseuds/thewriterofperfectdisasters
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hell, he would offer Ian his heart, even if Ian didn’t want it anymore. Ian was all Mickey needed in this world. He was like oxygen, and he was in the blood pumping through Mickey’s veins. There was no way in hell Mickey wouldn’t want him. Mickey would always want Ian.</p>
            </blockquote>





	in the morning, i'll be with you

**Author's Note:**

> Title from 'Skinny Love' by Birdy. (Originally by Bon Iver, but I was listening to Birdy's version.)
> 
> This fic is also available [here](http://www.fanfiktion.de/s/53c6ea67000225e53172d2b4/1/in-the-morning-i-039-ll-be-with-you) in German.

Every morning when Mickey woke up, feeling the other side of his bed weighed down, he told himself it was Ian. He didn’t want to open his eyes and face the reality that it wasn’t.

Because Ian wasn’t here. Who the fuck knew where Ian was. Somewhere off with the army was Mickey’s best guess. That was where Ian said he had gone off to, but maybe he was lying. Maybe Ian was covering his tracks, trying to hide from Mickey – get away and stay away.

Mickey knew it was his fault Ian was gone. If he hadn’t cared so fucking much about Ian’s safety in that group home, if he hadn’t invited Ian to stay at his house that night, if he hadn’t decided that maybe a quick fuck in the living room was a good idea. If Terry hadn’t walked in, if he hadn’t called for the Russian, if Mickey hadn’t gone along with it. If Svetlana didn’t get pregnant, if they didn’t get married.

If Mickey didn’t go and shit all over the heart Ian was offering him – his heart. Ian’s. On a silver fucking platter, ready to give it to Mickey so completely.

If Mickey had had the fucking guts to just say, _‘Yes, I’m gay, and yes I fucking love you.’_

But he didn’t. Because Mickey Milkovich was afraid of everything. His dad, his new wife, what everyone would think of him... Mickey didn’t want it. He wanted to run away with Ian to a place where no one knew them and where no one could find them so that they could just _be._

But it had all happened, and Mickey did his best to act like he didn’t care. It was ironic now that Ian was gone, what Mickey felt for that stupid fucking carrot was swelling inside him, forcing his heart and his stomach into his mouth, and it made him feel sick thinking about now Ian was gone that Mickey was ready to admit it.

Every time he pulled out that tattered photograph of Ian, shoved it in the gap between the mirror and the wood, and tried to get off, it felt like a punch to the gut – and not in a good way. It left him feeling broken, winded, and wanting to punch himself in the face like a wakeup call.

_See what you did? You fucked everything up so hard, and now he’s gone and not coming back. He won’t come back. Not for you. Not after what you did. Why would he? Why would he come back to the man who couldn’t admit it? No, you’re a piece of shit and you don’t deserve him. This is the universe’s way of saying you’ve lost the only chance at the best thing you ever had._

Mickey got so angry, staring at himself in the mirror. He wanted to punch himself. Beat some sense into his stupid, thick skull. Before he knew it, he struck out at the mirror. The pain shooting up his arm and blood bubbling out of his knuckles reminded him he was alive, and this wasn’t a dream. The pain was all he had to keep himself there. The pain anchored him. _Ian_ anchored him. Pain that was connected to Ian just felt like karma. Hurt someone and you’re gonna get hurt right back.

He just had to pull on the mask of indifference he had perfected, act like everything was okay, and get on with what would inevitably be the rest of his life.

Every time that someone would mention Gallagher – whether it was Mickey himself, or someone asking after him – it was like picking at a scab and not allowing the wound to heal. Mickey got the feeling it would take a very long time to heal this wound – if it would _ever_ heal. Why would it? He didn’t deserve to just move on with his life like nothing ever happened, and he didn’t want to.

Mickey wanted to go back to that little bubble, with beer, chicken nuggets, and the Seagal vs. Van Damme squabbling. He wanted that.

But he couldn't, because that ship had sailed.

 

* * *

 

Ian was back.

Mickey had no idea where he was, but he had a few leads. He went and got a direct location. Ian was at the Fairytale.

Fucking ironic because a fairytale was what he wanted but would never get.

Through the mingling crowds of people in this stupid club, Mickey saw a familiar head in the distance. Mickey had to pause for a moment, because he never thought he would see that head again.

He decided, right there and then, that he would do whatever he had to in order to keep that head, and the body attached to it, obviously, as close to him as he could.

Mickey didn’t even care that everything he touched turned to shit, that everything got ruined by him. Mickey hadn’t had the guts to claim Ian when he had the chance, and now he was going to let nothing stop him from keeping that boy by his side.

Maybe he would get to wake up to the feel of Ian sinking down one side of his bed, and maybe he would get to open his eyes every morning to see Ian’s face on the pillow beside him. Maybe they could get through everything and get back to how they had been, maybe Mickey would get the chance to offer _his_ heart on a silver platter.

Hell, he would offer Ian his heart, even if Ian didn’t want it anymore. Ian was all Mickey needed in this world. He was like oxygen, and he was in the blood pumping through Mickey’s veins. There was no way in hell Mickey wouldn’t want him. Mickey would always want Ian.

Maybe – just maybe – if Ian wanted Mickey still, when that stupid scab was picked at and the wound was reopened, it would stay open. Raw and painful, just like he and Ian.

He could deal with all that later, but for now, he needed to get Ian and bring him home to his family – bring him home to Mickey.


End file.
